


Under the Citrus Trees

by russianhousedj



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: 1920s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, M/M, Religious Content, Slow Build, Swearing, its very very light on the religion tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11711049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russianhousedj/pseuds/russianhousedj
Summary: A 1920’s AU where Jack is a farmer with citrus trees in his backyard, calluses on his hands, and a much less luxurious life than Vernon, a city dweller that one day appears at his door looking for help. It at first seems that the circumstances aren’t exactly in Vernon’s favor, but as time goes on he grows to enjoy the rural life, and spending time with Jack, much more than he initially thought he would.





	Under the Citrus Trees

**Author's Note:**

> This was very much inspired by one of my favorite movies, Fried Green Tomatoes. It progresses to take place more in the 30's - 40's than the 20's, but it's a great movie all around. I definitely recommend giving it a watch!
> 
> Also, this was written for the Game Grumps Big Bang, a writing challenge to put out 10k worth of fic in 60 days! The super lovely art, made as a companion piece in the challenge, was created by Finn, aka havvehoagie on tumblr. Go on and give them a follow!

 

He’s going to have to buy some new boots. It’s not like he won't be able to afford it, of course, but it's just such a _hassle_. Going into town, making polite conversation while all of his father's friends clap him on the back and ask him how the business is going, brushing off the flappers that place clingy hands on his shoulder as they flutter their lashes- it's nothing short of aggravating. Vernon knows that there's much worse he could be made to deal with, but in his current state - the sun beating down on him, his shoes dusty and ruined from the dirt road, and his car smoking a little ways back - he can't find it in himself to see much fault in his complaining.

There’s hardly anything to see on either side of him as he walks along the road, only stretches of wide open fields full of tall grass and… that's about it. Essentially, a whole lot of nothing. With a roll of his eyes Vernon wipes at his forehead with his handkerchief (the red monogrammed one from his father that makes him feel embarrassingly pretentious) and wonders why, of all places, he was made to get stranded _here_. He never did favor the country much.

After a bit more walking, hoping, and inward complaining, Vernon finds his efforts are rewarded. He comes across a jaded white house with linen curtains in the windows, a pen nearby containing a handful of dairy cows, and a rather weary looking barn set off to the side. Really, he should have expected that before he found any kind of mechanic to fix his car, he’d first come across one of the farmers of the rural area. Vernon wrinkles his nose at the idea, though he knows he hasn’t got any room to be picky, not when this is the first sign of life he's come across for about a half mile. He does his best to shake away whatever thoughts he might have about rural folk being difficult to get along with - thoughts spurred on by unpleasant things people like his father would say to him while sipping obnoxiously at iced tea - and moves up the walkway toward the front porch. A cow that's grazing on the other side of the weathered wooden fence eyes him apathetically as his boots crunch through the gravel.

With heavy steps that may or may not be a sign of how much he’s sulking and also slightly dreading the impending exchange, Vernon climbs the steps, the older boards creaking a little under his weight. After a bit of just staring at the peeling paint on the porch railing as a way to stall, he reluctantly makes the decision to just get it over with, and knocks loudly on the screen door. He taps his foot while he waits, and adjusts his boater hat, scratching at his hairline and wiping away the sweat there. The straw makes his head itchy if he wears it for too long, but he feels incomplete and improper without something on his head, especially in sunny weather like this and when he hasn't had any decent time to do his hair up all nice.

Vernon is almost contemplating turning around and leaving, suspecting that no one is home, before the creaking of footsteps sounds from inside and the door finally opens up to reveal a man staring back at him curiously. Vernon takes in the flat cap on his head, the dirt-smudged shirt, and his twisted suspenders with a repressed grimace, but tries not to feel so close to judgement. This may be his only helping hand for miles.

“Can I help you?” The man asks, scratching at his stubble and eyeing Vernon up and down. Vernon is a bit taken aback by the accent that tickles the stranger's words, having not expected an Irishman, but not exactly caring much either way. He’s heard his father’s friends complain and gripe about all the immigrants, all the harps taking their jobs and “ruining the American Dream.” Or something. But Vernon goes by the philosophy that he loves and respects everyone until he's given a reason not to; he just needs to remember to practice that philosophy more often.

“Yes, um,” Vernon begins, itching underneath his hat again before just taking the damn thing off. It's not like there's anyone around that he'll need to impress. “My car’s broken down on the side of the road a little ways back- I’m no good with mechanics and I don't know what went wrong, or how to fix it, for that matter. I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the nearest town so that I could find some help.”

After the question is passed into the open air, there are a few silent seconds where the stranger’s face contorts into something uncomfortable and unsure. He twists his mouth around before settling with a frown and furrowed brows. Sighing, the Irishman leans on the door frame, and Vernon knows that it must be the heat getting to him, but despite it all, he hopes for even a shred of good news. Unsurprisingly enough, though, just hoping doesn't manage to turn things in his favor or gain him much at all.

“I’m afraid you're fresh out of luck,” The man sighs, shaking his head as he shoves a hand in his front pocket. “The nearest mechanic is in the next town over, about thirty miles west. It'll take you ages to walk there. And even if you did manage it, he sent word around about a week ago that he’ll be out of town at least until the end of the month. There’d be no one there that would be of much to help you.”

The silence between them that follows makes Vernon’s head hurt, as all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears while his heart beats faster and the panic slowly sets in. Though maybe it's just that he just hasn't had anything to drink in a while. A small breeze blows in and ruffles his sweaty hair, though it does more in making him feel as though it'll blow him over than it does any good in cooling him down. In the distance the cicadas on the trees chirp and screech, and Vernon gets a sick feeling as he listens, like it's less of a summer song that they're whining out and more like they're laughing at his misfortune.

“Damn,” Vernon whispers, and sees a hint of a sympathetic smile grace the other man’s features. He looks down at the porch, scrapes the toe of his shoe across the boards and contemplates what to do for a moment, because he's pretty lost, as well as officially stranded for the time being. He can't quite think of anything to do that would make the situation any better. Then he realizes he's still under the watchful eye of the man in the doorway and feels only a little embarrassed. Vernon nods his head in a sort of thanks, a way of saying, “You were ultimately useless to me, but thank you for at least answering the door,” and turns to leave. He doesn't bother with situating his hat back on top of his head or wiping the disappointed look off of his face. His father would reprimand him for acting this way if he were here; but his dad _isn't_ here, and his feet are already starting to ache at just at the mere idea of having to walk thirty miles in search of an inn, and he feels that now, his sulking is wholly justified.

Vernon makes it a couple paces back down the steps, almost to the bottom, close enough to the cows now that he can see the flies buzzing near them and yet still manages to wish he could be as settled and taken care of as they are in that moment, before he stops in his tracks. His already dusty and soiled leather boots don't reach the dirt because that Irish accent rings out again and before he knows it, Vernon is sitting inside the farmer’s house, under a shabby, creaky roof, wondering what he’s going to tell his father once he finally makes it home.

“So where are you coming from, Vernon?” Jack asks, using the name he’s just learned in some attempt to add some casualty to the situation, as right now it seems vaguely, and inevitably, awkward.

“Los Angeles,” Vernon answers, ”I've never really known anywhere else. Especially not a place like this.” He glances at the other to make sure his statement didn’t particularly offend him, and pushes up his glasses that continue to slip down with the sweat on the bridge of his nose. It might just be the hottest day of the summer so far- or, it at least feels that way.

He looks around for added effect, taking in the dusty collection of teapots that sit on top of the high cabinets, the cobwebs dancing along the windowsills, and the lack of an electric refrigerator like his own. It's different, and makes him actually think for once, if only for a second, about the idea of there being people out there - _here_ , right here - living such different lives than his own. Vernon has never really entertained the thought much, and finds as he's looking at Jack’s worn trousers that are rather wrinkled and his shirt that’s turned a brownish off-white from the dust, that it makes him feel a little guilty.

Jack grins and laughs softly at the comment, and Vernon feels slightly offended, wondering what's so funny. He must look it, too, because then Jack is shaking his head and apologizing.

“I’m sorry, I just haven't ever really come across someone like you before, either. I already could have guessed, what with the fancy way you're dressed and talk of a car, but now I'm certain that I'm face to face with my first city boy.”

The small offended feeling nearly doesn't go away, because he wasn't aware that he was just some _label_ , some type to be filed under and judged by. But, the warm grin and friendly demeanor the Irishman has about him makes Vernon think twice, and realizes soon enough that there's no malintent behind his words. If anything, he probably fits the perfect description of common city folk, especially since he let Bob talk him into jumping on the bandwagon and buying a boater hat to blend in with the rest of what his dad calls “strapping young men.” And he doesn't mean to pat himself on the back, but it's probably best that it was Vernon that stumbled upon Jack’s doorstep, and _not_ one of the people that his father wishes he would be more like. Most of the people in Los Angeles act relatively alright, except when it comes to anyone from out of town. There's no telling what hurtful comments they might throw towards any person that's not as well-off as them, or who doesn't quite fit their standards; especially what they might say to an immigrant from Ireland.

“Yeah, well, it seems that this ‘city boy’ would much rather be home where he belongs, as nice as your place is. I'm not sure I've got many options on how to get there, though. You're sure the mechanic is out for a while?”

“I'm afraid so, mister. I could even go get the letter he sent around to everyone if you-,”

“No, no, that's alright. I'm just… well, thank you for the rest, but I’d say the only thing to do now is head out on foot again. The nearest town is thirty miles west, you said?” Vernon asks, but hardly even waits for a response before pushing away from the dining table he's sat at, the somewhat rickety chair making a sudden scraping noise across the floor that causes Jack to jump. He heads towards the door and pats his pockets to make sure he has everything collected, though most of what he brought is all in the backseat of the car. Then he places his hat back on his head, ready to bear the sun for a good few grueling hours, and pushes at the screen door, his hand nearly going through a gash that's torn in the middle of it.

Vernon barely manages a courteous and grateful nod at the other man, ready to say his parting thanks, before Jack manages to get a word in sooner.

“I'm not so sure about going out there, you know-walking that far, in shoes like that.” Jack warns, and Vernon looks down at his trusty boots with a disheartened look. What's wrong with his shoes? Jenny, the shoemaker’s daughter, had snagged him a complimentary custom-made pair just because he’ll flex his muscles for her whenever she asks. It's a bit crude to take advantage of all the crushes the girls around town have on him, but, if the shoe fits, wear it. Literally, in some circumstances.

“Well what do you suggest I do? I’m not exactly familiar with wildlife but sleeping in my car and just hoping someone will stop by soon enough will get me eaten by coyotes or something, won't it?”

Jack laughs then, and Vernon can tell right away this time that he’s not laughing at Vernon- or maybe he is, but either way, he doesn't exactly get his feelings hurt and instead manages a small smile, too.

“No, there aren't gonna be any coyotes around here, city boy. But, I’d say that if you're really that worried about getting mauled, it might be in your best interest to stay here for a bit, just until the mechanic comes back around to fix up that hayburner of yours and send you on your way.”

Vernon’s tries to stifle his smile as he's waved with a rush of relief. Without any good reason to say no, he shrugs, takes his hat back off, and nods in gleeful agreement.

\--

It's cold when Vernon wakes up. It's also dark and a little bit scary and a lot confusing, waking up fairly disoriented in a place he's never been in before. It takes Vernon a good few seconds before he comes to his senses and stops to remember that oh right, he’s in some random stranger's house. Unsurprisingly enough, the thought doesn't do all too much to ease his slight worry. Regardless though, Vernon “Not Afraid of Nothin’” Shaw, decides to suck it up and face the dark, chilly morning head on. Why is it so cold anyway? It's supposed to be summer.

His mind wanders to a memory of Jack showing him the way to his spare bedroom yesterday, and realizes that he must've just zonked out pretty soon after, as he can't seem to remember anything beyond that. He tries his best to not feel too embarrassed about the fact that such a short trek in the heat and a bout of worrying had worn him out so much. Thanks to the faint sunrise just beginning to peek in through the window, his eyes are able to adjust to the dark. Vernon goes about pulling on fresh clothes from his luggage that they'd retrieved from his poor broken down car, managing to only bang his toe on a bedpost and his shin on a precariously placed chair in the dark, cursing in a whisper into the quiet, unfamiliar room.

The house seems to be empty and quiet, almost eerily so. Vernon knows that there's nothing really to be afraid of, not when Jack seems friendly enough and his worry about coyotes was dismissed early on. But he still feels a little on edge as he wanders through the house.

In the kitchen again, Vernon takes some time to peep in places he shouldn’t while the sun rises, or at least the places that _seem_ like they’re off-limits. Like the couple of photographs placed in a pair of somewhat distressed photo frames on a hutch, a man and a woman in one, and the woman alone in the other. Around it sitting on the shelf are mostly small trinkets and things. Vernon recognizes a gold lipstick tube that resembles the collection of them that are on his mother’s vanity at home. He wonders where the mother figure in Jack’s life is, and father figure too. If the pictures and other small details around the house are anything to go by, it seems likely that others live here. But save for wherever Jack is currently and Vernon himself, the place is empty. He feels vaguely sad for a moment, though doesn’t really get why.

There isn’t much time to ponder it, as one minute he’s reflecting on his thoughts, and the next he’s scared half to death and nearly straight out of his skin. Jack comes barging in through the front door, and Vernon realizes now that the sun is almost fully up, light trickling in through the back window and through the raggedy screen door as well. The farmhand is bearing a pair of overalls today, along with a straw hat that looks a deal less pinned up and proper than Vernon’s own expensive one, and for a second, Vernon considers laughing right in his face. If anyone in Los Angeles had shown their face in town looking like they were plucked fresh from a cornfield themselves, he and whatever bozo “friends” that had been around him at the time probably would’ve gotten a real kick out of the silly outfit, laughing full-on.

There’s something, though; something about the warm, strawberry sunburned pink that rests on Jack’s cheeks and nose, something about the way his hat is crooked and tilted to almost cover his eyes, something in that genuine smile that Vernon is quickly growing accustomed to, that doesn’t make Vernon want to even crack a joke at the other boy’s expense. Not one. He figures it must have a lot to do with the fact that Vernon doesn’t have anything against Jack, and even if he did, the main reason he’d say anything at all would be to impress his stupid friends.

“Oh hey, Vernon. It’s getting hot pretty quick out there. How did you sleep?”

Vernon catches himself in a strange daze while staring at Jack, but shakes it away. He clears his throat before answering with, “Fine, thank you. I’m not used to staying in such a foreign place yet but I’m sure I can manage.” Jack smirks at that.

He removes his hat and ventures further into the house, wiping at his forehead with the back of his arm. After that, he moves for a pitcher of water that's set on the kitchen counter, and pours himself some to drink before continuing on with the small talk.

“I’m sorry I can't do much to help you get out of here. I figure giving you a place to stay is a good deal, but fixing that breezer of yours and getting you back into town would probably be the best.”

“Well, don't worry too much, it's not your fault the thing broke down.”

Jack sighs and shrugs his shoulders, taking a sip of water and then shaking his head. “I know that, but I still feel a little useless in a way. You know, I spent a couple days further north a few months back, went to a much larger farm with a tractor and everything. I practiced a bit of handy work there, but I think the best I could do now is fix a sewing machine, not a whole car. And we haven't even got a sewing machine either… so I guess I’m just stuck hand-sewing and you're just stuck in my house.”

Vernon grins at the way Jack grins, feeling not so tired anymore after being around the chipper attitude.

“Well, it's out to work for me. Those cows aren't going to milk themselves.” Jack sighs, and Vernon nods his head in a goodbye, watching Jack leave out the front door, but not without his hat. It's then that Vernon realizes he's by himself again, thinking about how isolated he is from all the other cities around and how he won't be back home for a while. But, it could be worse.

\--

After two days have passed, Vernon thinks he's found his worst. While life on a farm isn't necessarily all that different from the way things are back in Los Angeles, he'll admit that he's finding more and more differences everyday. Like how rural places like Jack’s farm don’t have indoor plumbing or electricity yet, as that kind of thing has only reached big cities. And Vernon isn’t much one to complain, but he’d be the first to turn his nose up at an outhouse and refuse. Unfortunately for him, though, it’s the only option around.

And another thing; the barren stretch of grass and weeds that surrounds Jack’s home? It’s the only thing for miles. There are no clubs nearby, no movie theater or church, and certainly no cafes where all the waitresses flirt and purse their lips, giving Vernon a free slice of pie in exchange for a cheeky wink. He never thought he’d see the day where he actually admitted to _missing_ all those red-lipped, starry-eyed girls from downtown- yet, here he is. In a farm house with no one to talk to while Jack spends his time outside doing, assumedly, farm work, and nothing good for entertainment, either. At first, it hadn’t been _so_ bad, but within the past forty-eight hours, Vernon has exhausted all possibilities. He’s read all the books around (admittedly boring ones, botany guides and farm device repair booklets), he’s fiddled with the deck of playing cards he found, hell, he’s organized and reorganized the socks in his suitcase about a dozen times now. The sun rises on the third day, and Vernon wakes up feeling just a tad dreadful. He’s bored.

Which is what brings him to Jack early that morning, desperate and at his wits end. The raised eyebrow and disbelieving smirk that the farmer offers him in response manages to embarrass him a bit, but he stands his ground. If he doesn’t find something else to busy himself with, he’ll go stir crazy, or even end up wandering the dirt roads and getting himself lost. Plus, above everything else, Vernon feels like he owes something. He’s generously being given a place to rest his head while he waits for things to turn back in his favor, and thinks it wouldn’t hurt to give back a little.

“You… You want to help with work around here?” Jack repeats what Vernon has told him, just to clarify. He hopes Vernon isn’t offended that he’s so surprised, but honestly, he’s never met any city folk who were willing to get their hands dirty beyond maybe touching the handle of their indoor-plumbing commodes. He tells this to Vernon.

Vernon wants to ask him why he thinks that, and even considers proving himself capable by arguing that just because he’s from a more luxurious lifestyle doesn’t mean that he can’t handle a little bit of labor and sweating under the sun. He doesn’t say any of that though, instead just tilts his head a little at the Irishman and mutters quietly that Jack is a, “Funny little bird,” - though he didn’t even mean to let it slip - and just nods in response. “If you’ll have me, that is.” Jack’s grin easily shows the answer he’s looking for.

“I’m sure we can find something for you.”

\--

It isn’t that Vernon regrets saying something, because if anything, all the pitching bales of hay and hauling buckets of milk have really done his body good. Since Jack only moved to America six months ago, that he there hasn’t been a good time to start with tilling any soil or planting crops between unpacking boxes and settling finances. So instead, there’s just a handful of cows that occupy the barn, but they need to be brushed, fed, and cared for, so there’s no huge shortage of work. Not to mention the odd jobs around the house too, like repairing fences, laundry, the like. Vernon enjoys the small talk he gets with Jack here and there, between and washing the linens. But Vernon was never a very athletic type as a kid, and he’s beginning to feel the consequences of that now start to set in.

“This,” Vernon pants, after bringing a fresh (and heavy) pail of water inside from the well, “Is torture.” It’s been about a week since he volunteered to become Jack’s farm hand, and if his calloused hands and achy muscles are anything to go by, he’s definitely paying for it. Vernon’s father always told him to not complain, because it wasn’t good manners and it showed signs of weakness. But right now, he’s not worried about any of that- he’s more worried about the possibility of his arms falling clean off his body from overuse. When he voices this to Jack, he gets a chirp of a laugh in reply.

“Stop talkin’ all that baloney, city boy, your arms are just fine. You folk are all so spoiled, with all of your fancy electrics that do everything for you,” he mocks facetiously, “Clearly you’re not cut out for this kind of stuff, are you?” Sitting at the dining table and resting his head on his arms, Vernon isn’t looking at him, but he can practically hear the smirk and amusement in his words anyway. He feels a small urge to argue and counter Jack’s assumptions, but feels too beat to be bothered. Right now, he could just go for a tall glass of lemonade.

And somehow, he gets just that.

“What’s this?” He asks after Jack sets something down on the table in front of him, squinting past his slightly dusty glasses as if he can’t believe it. Maybe it’s because he’s so used to seeing iced lemonades and other drinks at his parents’ fancy parties that he would’ve put it past the country boy to have some on hand.

“It’s lemonade,” Jack chuckles.

“But how did it get here?” Vernon questions, and really, he must be going a little mad from too long in the sun, because it’s not _that_ miraculous of a thing to happen to him. Admittedly, though, maybe the most spectacular thing to happen to since he arrived on the farm.

Fortunately, Jack doesn’t seem too put-off by the other’s rather silly comments, and instead just laughs a little again, a sort of soft giggle, and with a wave of his hand, says, “Here, I’ll show you. Follow me.”

The pair venture out of the backdoor, the one Vernon had never used before and hardly even noticed was there. Now, though, he feels like he should have gone out to the backyard a lot sooner, feels like he was very much missing out. There’s plenty of weeds but even more bunches of wildflowers and tall grass. A crooked, murky pond sits to the right and the unforgiving dirt road to the left, with a decent sized clearing in between the two. Straight ahead are nearly a dozen citrus trees, lemons and oranges growing large and vibrant on the branches with more fallen fruits scattered on the ground. It’s not as though Vernon has never seen a pond or a couple of fruit trees before, he’s just never seen anything quite like _this_. It’s so serene and full of nature and colors and he wishes he were a painter, so he could capture the moment and everything in it the way black and white photographs just can’t.

Looking over to Vernon, Jack grins at his reaction, seeming pleased and as though it’s just what he’d expected.

“We could stay out here and lounge for the rest of the day, if you’d like. I would feel bad if I tried to make you work anymore.”

Vernon seems a little surprised at the comment, and begins to object, but Jack just waves him off. “Really, it’s no big deal. I was mostly just doing so much work to keep myself busy while my dad’s away, but now since I’ve got someone for company, there’s not much else to do after feeding the animals every morning.”

It's the first time all week Jack has mentioned anything about his father or a family at all. Vernon doesn't want to pry, but he has to admit that he's curious. It doesn't seem like Jack wants to forget them or forget home, but he doesn't speak about either of them much. Not that he's expected to open up to a near stranger about his past, but if they're meant to be spending this much (and a further indefinite amount of) time together, then Vernon figures Jack should confide in him at least a little.

He waits until they’re both resting underneath the trees to ask the curious question that weighs on his mind, “So, what about him?” and Jack looks a little confused. “Your dad, I mean. Where’s he gone?”

The farmer falters a little, looks anywhere but at Vernon, before finally fixing his gaze on something in the distance. He takes a breath in as if about to speak, but lets it out noncommittally in a sigh instead, as if he isn't sure what to say. After a pause that lasts a few moments, he answers.

“He’s… away. Home in Ireland.”

“What for?” Vernon presses, his mouth moving faster than his brain can warn him to stop.

“Just visiting.” Jack says with a shrug, a little dismissively, and that's the end of that.

A few minutes later, the sun is so warm and his spot in the grass is so nice that Vernon dozes off like that, with his back against the small trunk of a lemon tree. He isn't sure how long he's out for, and startles a little when he wakes. The fact that he's fallen asleep isn't the problem- Vernon is more put-off by the fact that his head is resting on someone's shoulder. And that someone is Jack.

“Oh, I’m-,” He says a little groggily, pushing his glasses up his nose that had apparently slipped down during his slumber. “Sorry.” Vernon mumbles, but Jack shakes his head with a smile.

“It's alright, I didn't want to wake you, you looked so peaceful.” He laughs, and for some reason that Vernon can't exactly place, Vernon blushes. He blames it on the heat. They spend a couple more minutes outside together, chatting lightly, and doing their best to ignore the gnats that hover by their sweaty faces. Soon enough though, Vernon announces that he's going back inside, and thanks Jack for showing him around. He's not really sure what makes him do it though. Enjoying the outdoors instead of suffering in it is the best thing he's done all week, and the company of another person sure beats the endless boredom of Jack’s lonely, creaking farm house. He doesn't change his mind, though, and after retreating back to the room he stays in, spends a good while just laying on his cot and staring up at the ceiling.

\--

That night when a storm rolls around, Vernon is regretting not taking advantage of the sleep he managed to get earlier in the day. For the past week or so, he’s been so exhausted from working outside with Jack all day that he hadn't had any trouble falling asleep, had just been dropping gracelessly into bed and practically passing out soon after. Now though, without the easy sleep from work, he's more aware of his surroundings as he tries falling asleep and is, embarrassingly enough, a little scared. Or maybe “uneasy” is a better word, the word he’d use when describing the situation to save his pride. Either way, though, he's still not getting shut-eye very easily, not with the creaking of the house and the rain pelting his window in a less-than-settling way. His eyes droop but he can't drift off, and Vernon feels a little desperate at this point. This is what brings him to Jack’s room in the middle of the night.

He would've taken the sofa in he living room, except there isn't one. All that's there is a wicker rocking chair, and two stiff, mismatched floral arm chairs that make Vernon question the sense of style of whoever put them there.

“Vernon?” A sleepy voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and a low roll of thunder outside further shakes him. Jack sounds confused, and rightfully so; it must be strange to see a man standing in your doorway in the dark, dead of night.

“I-I’m sorry, I-,” He begins, suddenly regretting his decision to come here at all.

He must sound nervous, as Jack interjects, voice sweet and groggy, “Hey, it's alright. Storm keeping you up?” Vernon nods his head, feeling sheepish and stupid and embarrassed as all hell. Fortunately though, Jack continues, “That's fine, you can stay in here for the night if you’d like.”

Honestly, Vernon is a little surprised that Jack so quickly complied to let him share the bed; he didn’t even get the chance to _ask_. He’s not exactly sure how he himself would have reacted had Jack stumbled into _his_ room and asked the same thing. “Are you… are you sure?” Vernon double checks, tentative in case Jack is just in some strange sort of dream, and doesn’t really mean what he’s saying. Jack’s voice is a little rough as he chuckles lowly, and waves his hand in an inviting gesture as he assures Vernon. “Yeah, I’m used to sharing beds with people. That’s what poor life is all about.” Vernon decides it better not question what exactly “poor life” means, and instead just nods again gratefully and all but tiptoes further into the bedroom.

After slipping under the covers onto the full-sized mattress, he lays there stiff and uneasy, listening to the storm continue on outside. When a crack of lightning flashes and a heavy rolling thunder follows, Vernon jumps, startled.

“City boy scared?” Jack mumbles beside him, turned over on his side with his back to Vernon and as comfortable as could be. He sounds half asleep already, but it seems evident thus far that he never passes up an opportunity to tease or pick on Vernon. Playfully, of course. Vernon doesn't answer, just sighs and stays flat on his back and tries his best to _not_ think about how underneath the slightly scratchy blanket, Jack’s bare thigh is just barely touching his. He doesn't remember falling asleep.

\--

It's got to be the hottest day of the summer, and Vernon is just about to snap. It seems that he hasn’t really had _too_ much resentment for the hot sun, but now, without his ceiling fans and ice boxes back home, he feels as though he's boiling. It's been about two more weeks since the day Jack introduced Vernon to his garden, and they've spent nearly every day out there since, since the grass is nice and soft for sitting and the trees provide a good amount of shade to feel comfortable. It's given them an endless amount of time to sit and talk and get to know each other, especially because Jack still had no word from the mechanic returning yet and Vernon seemed to be stuck for a fair while longer. At this point, though, he’s nearly forgotten about home, evidently quite enjoying himself more than he initially thought he would.

Especially today, as Jack splashes pond water at him wearing only an undershirt and a pair of underwear. After Vernon had complained about the heat more times than Jack could count on one hand, he’d stood from his spot sprawled on the grass beneath the trees without a word. When Vernon asked where he was going, he only smirked and proposed, “Come on and find out.”

As Vernon watched Jack hastily strip and all but run excitedly into the pond, he decided he regretted finding out.

“For crying out loud, Vernon! Just get in the water!” Jack yells, his Irish accent a little thicker as he raises his voice.

“I’m afraid, okay?” Vernon retorts defiantly, hands on his hips.

“Of what?!”

“I don't know,” He admits, exasperated, “There could be snakes in there!”

Jack laughs, head thrown back. “You slay me city boy, you really do. Just come on in, there are no snakes in here.”

Vernon huffs and puffs but reluctantly gives in then, undressing to just his undergarments before slowly making his way in. He wades into the pond tentatively, glancing at the slightly murky water around him with a frown. “Are you _sure_ there's no snakes in here?” He asks, the water now up to his chest.

“ _Yes_ , Vernon.” Jack reassures him, and Vernon visibly relaxes, letting the tension ease from his shoulders and his body float more languidly.

“At least, no big ones…” Jack mutters a couple seconds later, and laughs loudly at the way Vernon splashes water as he turns to Jack, eyes wide and terrified.

With no actual snakes around, as it turns out ("Vernon _seriously_ , I was kidding,”), Vernon is content to end up actually spending a fair amount of time in the water. The heat slips his mind as he’s cooled by the pond enveloping him, feeling lazy and content as he and Jack just shoot the breeze. Eventually, after a couple of hours, they retreat from the water and sit on the bank, once the sun has started on its way down and the temperature’s dropped a little.

Vernon’s hair is still damp and there’s mud beneath his feet, but he feels so pleased  in the faint light of the setting sun that he can't much be bothered to care. He smirks as he thinks about the way he acts back home, how if someone told him a couple weeks ago that he’d happily be sleeping on a farm and swimming in dirty water, he would've rolled his eyes in that smug way that he does and scoffed. He's glad things turned out this way, though. The more time he spends in a strange, isolated place with his new friend, the more he becomes self aware and realizes he's changing for the better. He always considered himself different from the stupid friends he keeps - the ones his father favors - but Jack brings out the best in him.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind.” Jack remarks, looking over to Vernon with a curious raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, just thinking about how nice the weather is. I love the summer.”

“And how.” Jack agrees, nodding his head lazily.

Vernon sighs, digging the heels of his bare feet a little further into the dirt. “It's not really like this back home. I mean, it's sunny, sure, but everyone is always bustling around, all the noise and the factories and the cars, usually you never even realize how nice it is outside, and you don't get any time to enjoy it.” He isn't really sure where he’s going with this. Part of him misses home, but the way his mouth seems to involuntarily speak of it so negatively makes him question if he really favors Los Angeles or not.

Jack moves to close some of the space between them, and sits so that he’s closer to Vernon, their shoulders touching. Vernon appreciates being able to be near someone and feel comfortable, unbothered by any need to impress anyone.

“So, what do you do back home?” Jack questions him, and Vernon looks back a little confused.

“I already told you the other day, I work at the business my father owns and-,”

“No, no, not work, I mean, what do you do for fun?”

Vernon thinks for a second, and shrugs to himself. Does he really do much outside of work? His father, being the big cheese that he is, usually gets mad at him for skipping out early and not getting all of his business done, says that if a man wants to be honorable, he has to get the job done right every time. And Vernon understands that, of course, but he also believes in a little time off from the busy work schedule. Besides occasionally catching a film or just hanging around town, Vernon doesn't do much for recreation.

“I don't want to sound like such a flat tire,” Vernon begins a little solemnly, “But I don't have many other things I do outside of work.” He feels silly admitting it, and also a little irked that he’d gotten too caught up in the business routine and pleasing his dad that he forgot to have fun once in awhile.

“Come on, I don’t fully believe that. There's got to be _something_ , right?”

Vernon thinks for a second, and debates saying anything before considering that out here, there's no one to enforce the law, and he trusts Jack at this point, anyway.

“Well, don't tell anybody, but on nights when my father isn't breathing over my shoulder, I’ll sometimes go to speakeasies by myself.”

Jack nods to show he hears him. “Why go alone? Why not go with your friends?”

“I like it better getting drunk alone. And I don't, uh,” Vernon sighs, feeling embarrassed for some reason, “I just don't much care for their company. I know they only hang around me to get on my dad’s good side. I wouldn't even call them friends, really.” He looks over to Jack, and doesn't find any kind of sympathetic look like he’d expected. He really hates it when people feel sorry for him, so he’s grateful that Jack doesn't seem as though he’s drowning in pity. Instead, he's nodding his head again and locking eyes with Vernon, conveying that he understands, that he’s listening. Vernon has always felt he just needs someone to listen to him.

Abruptly then, Jack stands, brushing his hands off on the dry trousers he’d since put back on after swimming. He grins down at his friend still on the ground, and says, “Wait here.” Vernon, made lazy and languid by the easy afternoon, obliges easily, and lays back with his hands behind his head, shutting his eyes while he waits for Jack’s return. With no way to keep track of time, Vernon is unsure of how long Jack takes, or how long he stays there stretched out and comfortable on the ground. He manages to drift off regardless, and when he’s woken by a soft couple of nudges to his side, he sees that the fading sunlight has entirely vanished now, and the stars are beginning to creep around and show themselves, one by one. While the moonlight isn’t all that faint, Vernon is still thankful for the lantern Jack’s brought out with him. That’s not the only thing he’s retrieved from the house, though.

“Thirsty?” Jack asks, smirking, and it takes Vernon only a second before he’s shaking his head and grinning slyly, as well.

“And just where were you hiding all this?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, city boy.” Jack remarks smugly as he sits himself back down, and Vernon decides that as long as Jack is sharing, he doesn’t need to know, anyway. It’s not as though he’s one to go chasing after bootleg like it’s his source of life, not like some of the drunks around Los Angeles, but when he’s in the right mood for it - mostly, after having an argument with his dad - he ends up getting so bent that he can’t see straight. Jack doesn’t need to see him like that.

It’s then that he realizes that he’s gone quiet, and that Jack is looking over at him curiously, holding out the bottle for him to take a swig. It’s when Jack asks, “What’s eatin’ you?” with a little bit of a concerned look that Vernon just huffs a laugh at himself and shakes his head.

“Just thinking about home.” He says, voice deep and quieter than usual. The sound of the crickets and frogs by the pond are soft background noise to the quiet night, and he doesn’t want to spoil it with his own obnoxious ramblings.

Jack moves closer towards him then, grabbing the bottle back and taking another easy swig. “Don’t worry,” He assures, resting a warm hand on Vernon’s knee, “You’ll be out of here in no time.” Vernon doesn’t bother mentioning that maybe that’s sort of the reason why he’s confused, and a little upset. There are things he misses, but is the city life really good for him after all? He’s grown so accustomed to people always rushing to be somewhere, always wondering about his business. All that compared to quiet, lax days spent in the sun with a good friend? He feels like not seeing his misunderstanding family again wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing in the world. He feels like he might never want to go back.

However, he doesn’t bother voicing any of this, for fear of Jack thinking he’s off his nuts or something, and instead just asks, “Did you make this yourself?” after swallowing down another mouthful of bitter brown and unsuccessfully trying not to twist his face up at the taste.

“Yeah, I did.” Jack says, a little too proudly.

“Well, it’s terrible.” Vernon laughs, and only giggles a little louder as Jack shoves him and laughs along, too.

\--

Suspiciously, Vernon’s eyes flick between Jack’s smug expression and the bright lemon Jack’s rolling in his hand. There’s no way. Sure, he’s heard stories about Irish folk and even plain farmers being strange, but this was almost taking it too far. Almost.

He’s sitting criss cross in the grass, in a soft, worn shirt and a pair of comfy trousers, both belonging to Jack. Having only been equipped with a single suitcase when his car threw in the towel, he didn’t have many options on clothes to wear. By the time a whole month with Jack was drawing near, all of his belongings had been worn at least twice, and were in need of a wash. Jack gave him a hand and they spent an afternoon washing his things together, Jack also offering some of his own clothes as a replacement while Vernon’s were set out to dry. He feels odd thinking about how they somehow feel even cozier and warmer than his own.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to say that I dont believe you.” Vernon admits, shaking his head at the way Jack just smirks a little more at his words.

“You don’t think I can eat this lemon without flinching?” The farmer questions, and Vernon again shakes his head no.

“I’ll bet you I can.” Jack challenges.

And before Vernon can even think to ask, “What’ll I get if I win?” Jack peels the thing and takes a bite, his shining blue eyes trained on Vernon. He hardly even blinks, and when he finishes his mouthful and Vernon is left speechless, he even goes in for another taste.

“Told you. Do you want to try some?” Jack asks teasingly, offering the fruit over while wiping at his mouth. With only a slight grimace, Vernon shakes his head, declining. “I don’t like lemons, it’s just too tart. Not all of us are little Irish oddballs like you.”

Jack shrugs, before his face lights up and he stretches to reach for another fruit that’s fallen from the tree and rolled a distance away from the trunk. Without too much straining, Jack grabs ahold of an orange, brushing it off a bit on his shirt and looking at Vernon with a raised eyebrow.

“Why have I let you go this long staying here without trying any of our oranges?” He asks him, and Vernon, without much of a good answer, shrugs in response.

Jack shuffles closer then, moving towards Vernon on his knees until there’s less than a foot of space between them. His calloused fingers and blunt nails dig into the orange’s skin, ridding it of its peel with a determined expression. When he’s got a section separated, he leans in even further to Vernon, close enough that Vernon can smell the fresh lemon on his breath, and their noses are almost touching.

In a hushed voice that Vernon probably wouldn't even be able to hear if he wasn't so near, Jack lifts the orange slice and Vernon’s mouth and tells him, “Try it.” His smile is encouraging, and Vernon’s heart inexplicably begins to pound so hard as his eyes look up to meet with Jack’s blues that sparkle with excitement, that it's all he can do to comply. As he bites down, Jack’s finger brushes his lip just barely, and the sweet juice that escapes from the bursted fruit drips a little down his chin, on Jack’s finger. He chews almost mechanically, unable to find any words to say or any willpower to make himself stop staring at Jack.

“We’ve got the sweetest oranges for miles,” Jack whispers. Time seems to be slowed down, and Vernon notices him glancing between Vernon’s mouth and eyes, grinning sweetly and judging for a reaction. He thinks if his throat keeps feeling closed up and dry like this, and his breathing so short, he might just end up choking.

Somehow, Vernon manages to come to his senses, and he clears his throat after swallowing to try and break whatever daze he’d been tossed into. Sitting back on his heels, away from Vernon’s personal space now, Jack asks what he thinks.

“Good, right?” His voice is louder now, back to normal, placing Vernon back in the real world. As he does his best to not appear too unreasonably yet undeniably shaken by the experience, Vernon huffs out something that might be a laugh, and nods his head. Fortunately, the farmer jumps into some sort of story about his childhood then, something to do with oranges and mockingbirds. Vernon’s listening, of course he is. He just still needs a little time to catch his breath.

That night, Vernon seems to have some trouble sleeping- again. He's used to the somewhat rickety house and his dark room by now, but he feels hypersensitive. He feels as though he can hear every board creak as the building shifts, every whistling gust of wind at his window, and all the cows shuffling as they rest by the fence outside. Something in his mind tells him not to do it, but he does it anyway.

Vernon grimaces at the way Jack’s bedroom door squeaks as he opens it, and especially at the way Jack panics just a little as he’s startled awake.

“Wh-What? I-,” He mumbles, looking around the dimly moonlit room until his eyes catch the silhouette of none other than Vernon, once again lurking late at night in his doorway. “Is everything okay?” Jack asks him, and Vernon feels relieved that he isn't quick to some sort of anger for disrupting his sleep for most likely no good reason at all.

Vernon nods, swallows, and shifts his weight from foot to foot. What it is about asking Jack to share a bed that makes Vernon so awkward and flustered, he's not sure. Though, it may have something to do with the fact that Jack is near naked, only in his undergarments to try and beat the summer heat, and only half-covered by one of his bed sheets. Maybe.

“Vernon?” Jack asks after a few moments of radio silence from his friend, and Vernon shakes his head at himself, forcing an answer that shouldn't have been so difficult in the first place.

“I don't know what cows do when they sleep but they seem noisier than usual, maybe it's the wind but I don't know, it's just that they're being sort of loud and keeping me up, I could probably sleep in my room if it's a bother though, I don't want you to have to-,”

“ _Vernon_ ,” Jack says again, interrupting the nervous rambling. He can barely see him with the little light that's peeking into the room, but Vernon can sure enough hear the amusement tickling at his words, and imagines Jack is probably grinning at Vernon’s own stupidity.

Sighing, Vernon shakes his head at himself, and opens his mouth to apologize. Jack manages to speak up first, though, telling him, “I don't mind.” His voice is calmer and softer now, not so much laughing but sounding like he's falling back asleep, and smiling still but now in a fond sort of way. Or at least, that’s what Vernon hopes. Even if he lit a lantern or candle, he still wouldn't be able to see without his glasses. A little sheepishly, he clears his throat and nods before making his way over to Jack, trying to tread lightly on the groaning floorboards even though there's nobody else to wake up.

Once he’s settled, he whispers a thank-you to Jack, quietly in case the sleepy farmhand is already out again. Jack hums, either in his sleep or in response- Vernon accepts it either way. From his comfy spot in Jack’s room, on Jack’s bed, feeling the warmth from Jack’s body but somehow wanting more of it despite the summer night’s heat, he can still hear all the previously sleep-depriving noises outside. Somehow though, he manages to pass out within minutes, and sleeps soundly through the night.

\--

From that night on, it doesn't take Vernon very long at all to have his startling realization; the realization that he's beginning to fall in love.

He wonders how he didn’t see it before, but figures that maybe, deep down somewhere, he _did_ know, but just didn't let himself acknowledge it. Now, though, as Jack stands completely naked only feet away from Vernon, dripping wet and glistening by the silver light of the moon, there's really no way of denying it. Vernon tries his best to not to stare, but he finds that his eyes seem to be betraying his mind as they follow the water droplets that drip and glide on Jack’s skin. He manages to look away before he trails too far down and the blush on his cheeks becomes too apparent, but then Jack’s calling him in, seemingly unaware of Vernon’s current state, and it appears that there isn't going to be a way out of this one. That’s the way it usually is with Jack anyway, the persistent little fellow.

“Why are you still standin’ around? We've been _over_ this, there aren't any snakes in here.” Jack giggles from where he’s stood in the pond, only a little ways away from Vernon who's still just standing there dumbly, fully clothed and even hotter than he’d been feeling before. He blames himself for complaining about the heat again- if he hadn't, Jack might not have suggested jumping back in the water again… Just, without their clothes this time.

“Are you afraid of skinny dipping?” Is the question Jack asks next, a little incredulously. Vernon is nearly ready to say yes, but he’s also never much one to back down from a challenge, and ends up shaking his head no. As long as he doesn't let his eyes linger for too long, and Jack can't hear his erratic, relentlessly beating heart over the quiet sounds of the night, everything should go smoothly. He's just not entirely sure if he has much control over either of those things.

Eventually, after a bit more heckling and teasing, Vernon ends up waist-deep in the pond water with Jack. They don't play around as much as they might usually, trading childish splashing for a peaceful and comfortable silence between them as they simply float instead. Vernon is grateful that as he floats on his back and looks upwards, he's easily enamored with the explosion of stars on the dark velvet sky. It distracts him, something else for him gawk at other than what odd places his eyes might want to wander to instead. Without the sun, the summer isn't as grueling at night, and with enough time, Vernon’s teeth are chattering involuntarily. He tries to convince Jack that he’s fine; brushing away problems so as not to appear too weak or less masculine is a habit he’s developed thanks to his home life. Fortunately, Jack sees easily past his lies and ushers him back onto the bank, ducking back into the house for a moment and telling Vernon to stay put and that he’ll be back. He feels exposed and odd sitting there shivering and naked, but true to his word, Jack returns, clothed now, with some dry garments, a blanket, and a jar of what looks to be moonshine.

“This should help warm you up.” Jack smiles, and Vernon fights the urge to yawn as he slips into the dry clothes and settles under the blanket. He feels as though he could pass out at any moment, his eyes drooping dangerously, but Jack still seems so awake and so content to be outside that he doesn't dare suggest to head back in. Jack even joins him under the blanket, and as they slowly work on sipping their booze, Vernon thinks that this might be his favorite night so far.

The easy silence between them is broken when Jack asks him, “Where were you driving to, anyhow?” Vernon, with the alcohol warming him and giving him an edge, takes a moment to process the question.

“What?”

“When your car broke down, where were you headed?”

Vernon resists the urge to roll his eyes, and shifts a little on the dirt as his tailbone is going numb. The blanket falls from his shoulders a little in the process, and though he’s warmed up enough now that he doesn't need it much anymore, Jack still reaches over to pull it back up around him. For some reason, his cheeks flush now as he answers.

“A business call came in for my dad. Some company wanted to meet up with him, but since he's so busy and doesn't give much of a damn about me, he sent me to go instead.” It surprises him a little how quick to anger he is when thinking about his father, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. A lot of times, it's difficult to realize how you feel about a situation until you’re out of it, and viewing it from the outside. He doesn't want to be angry, though, especially not around Jack, who makes him smile wider and more often than he has in a long while. Vernon takes a breath to calm himself down and takes a longer swig of the bootleg, enjoying the way it tickles and burns on the way down.

Jack nods in understanding, sensing how Vernon dislikes the subject and thankfully not pushing it any farther. Vernon thinks that the conversation must be over for now, and they're back to simply enjoying one another's company in the quiet, but the drunkenness that's starting to thrum nicely inside him now seems to think otherwise. He looks over to Jack, looks at the way Jack licks his lips, and the way his eyes shine and his eyelashes kiss his cheeks as he closes his eyes thoughtfully. His mouth takes on a mind of its own, and the words come spilling out almost as fast as his beating heart.

“Y’think God has ever punished you?” His voice shakes just a little.

There’s a man that works the bakery that will sometimes openly kiss other men in public, and a good number of flappers in the joints downtown that grope the other girls and flirt up a storm- most of the time, no one in the pubs seems to even bat an eye. But he hears all the neighborhood men, and his dad especially, complaining about the sudden appearance of the homosexuals in society. They all preach the idea that it's a sin, that men shouldn't lie with other men, that instead they should be at home with a family and a good hold on a wife. They say God will come for them eventually.

Though he’s never been absurdly religious, Vernon is admittedly a little put off by the thought of being punished by God. Vernon wonders what God, and his father, would think of him if it came out that recently, he’s caught himself daydreaming of kissing Jack under the citrus trees until his lips go numb.

Jack’s voice breaks his train of thought. With all the sudden inner turmoil, Vernon nearly forgot he had even asked a question. The answer he receives isn't quite what he expected.

"I'm not so sure,” Jack mutters, voice a little lower than usual, insightful, “They say all that death and sickness is God's wrath, but I like to live by the fact that everything happens for a reason. Whatever goes on, whatever seems wrong, God thought it was right. Nothing happens without his say so.” He sighs, finishing with a quiet, “Why would he punish you for something he made happen?”

Without much insight on what to say back, Vernon just hums and nods. Jack’s words swim through his head, and he just sits there under the blanket and thinks. He thinks back to over a month ago, when he was angry that his car spluttered and stopped in the middle of a rural dirt road, and how now, with his perspective changed, he doesn’t think he’s ever been quite this happy in a while. It’s a complete turn around. Maybe, it happened for a reason after all. Maybe all the boys back home are wrong, and it doesn’t matter who your heart falls for. Maybe, God has always been meaning for Jack and Vernon to find each other, that it was God, not his father, that sent him out of town, just so he could… so he could fall in _love._ His fingertips tingle at the thought of the word, and thankfully, Jack doesn’t mention anything about Vernon going so quiet. He isn’t so sure what he’d have to say for himself if Jack began to realize just how star-crossed Vernon is starting to become.

\--

They don't spend every second of every day together. Before meeting, Vernon and Jack were both fairly independent people, and need their occasional solitude. That's why when Jack had told Vernon not to follow him out back, Vernon understood his place and didn't mind offering space for a little time alone. He would know best that being surrounded by people and constantly trying to perform well socially can be draining at times. So he doesn't think much of it when Jack spends most of the day outside, and doesn't even come back in time for lunch. What does start to worry him, though, is when Jack finally bursts in around sunset, and he's acting just a little louder and sloppier than usual.

“Vernon!” Jack smiles when he sees his friend sitting at the kitchen table with a book, glasses perched on his nose and eyes narrowing as he concentrates on the words. His consonants sound a little softer than usual, but Vernon doesn't think a whole lot of it. Not until Jack is wandering over to the table, practically laying on top of it, and draping himself all over Vernon.

He raises an eyebrow at Jack’s hand on his shoulder, and the way he seems to be gripping on as if he’ll fall when he lets go. Then, he starts playing with Vernon’s hair, telling him how much he likes it, how good he looks. Vernon tries not to appear too flustered at the compliments, heart rate picking up and blushing only a little as he mumbles an awkward thank-you in return. Then Jack is laughing loudly, even louder than usual, and it doesn't take much after that for Vernon the smell of homemade booze to hit his nose and to figure out that Jack’s drunk. This doesn't feel like the casual kind of intoxicated Jack that he’s used to, though. He seems way more zozzled than usual, is acting boisterous and _different_. Vernon wonders how much Jack has had, then decides to ask for himself.

“Not enough,” Jack chuckles, fingers still curling in the other’s hair and pulling a little as he gets tangled in it. Vernon grabs his wrists and pulls them away from his head, back down to his sides, then tries catching Jack’s slightly unfocused gaze with his serious one. While he knows it's not necessarily his place to ask, Vernon still feels like something is wrong, and wants to know what he can do to make it better.

“Why, uh, why were you drinking?” He asks, trying to appear casual even as his cheeks heat up the longer Jack’s hands are in his. Fortunately - or unfortunately, he can't decide on which - Jack pulls his hands away roughly soon enough, expression going a little colder as he stares at Vernon with his eyes narrowed.

“There’s no reason,” Jack mutters, low and secretive. Vernon thinks he liked the giggly drunk Jack better. “Can't a man just drink for the hell of it?”

There are plenty of things that Vernon wants to say, but figures it best to not push Jack any further, as he already seems a bit on edge. He just looks at him with an expression that he hopes appears concerned enough to make Jack want to open up to him. They sit in a stiff silence for a couple moments, speaking a thousand silent words between their locked eyes. Jack looks as if he's debating whether or not to be angry with Vernon for prying, but it seems that he decides to forfeit and not dive into a fight when he sighs heavily, slumps down in the wooden chair next to Vernon, and mumbles, “I’ve got a lot of things on my mind.”

It's not Vernon’s business to butt into Jack’s personal life and feelings, but if Jack is choosing to (drunkenly) open up to him, he's not going to stop him. Sure, he's a little nosey, but most of all Vernon just wants to know what's the problem is, and what he can do to help, to see Jack smile again.

“It’s just been,” Jack says, a fragment of a sentence that he seems to not be able to properly piece together. Maybe he can't find the right words, or maybe he doesn't think he'll be able to hold himself together.

“What's eating you?” Vernon asks, tone something low and soothing, urging Jack to continue. He’s attempting to appear casual about it all, so that Jack feels less like he's being interrogated and more like he can just be honest and open with a friend.

His words are a little sloppy and he moves his hands in a way that doesn't match his speech, but whether he’s entirely coherent or not, Vernon is willing to listen. It’s not much of a story, mostly just a few mumbled phrases and followed silence as Vernon sits and takes it all in, judges what he could possibly say to console his friend.

It takes him a couple shaky breaths to spit out, “It’s uh… It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death.” Vernon wasn't sure what he expected Jack to say, but he's sure that it wasn't that.

“That's why my dad is away. He’s in Ireland, visiting her grave, being with the family, things like that.”

“Why didn't you go with him?” Vernon can't help but wonder aloud quietly, and nearly visibly winces a bit at his own blunt question. He might have spent a considerable amount of time getting to know Jack, but he’s never witnessed how he manages his emotions. He doesn't know if Jack could replace his misery with anger, or burst into tears at any second. Fortunately, Jack doesn't seem all too bothered by Vernon’s inquiry- or he’s just too drunk to take proper offense.

Jack shrugs, slumping a little further down in his chair and staring fixedly at a notch in the wooden table. His actions seem to portray apathy, but the way his voice trembles slightly as he mutters, “Somebody had to watch over the place,” is a dead giveaway that he’s not actually feeling as complacent as he might want to seem. His eyelashes kiss his cheeks as he stares downward, mumbling something else about not being good with death. And Vernon doesn't mean to, but he gasps a little when the first tear falls down from Jack’s glassy wet eyes. It hurts his heart to hear and see Jack so sad, and he wants to wipe the tear away, but is afraid of crossing some invisible, undefined boundary. He doesn't want to end up pushing Jack away by pushing too hard.

A bitter laugh sounds out in the dark, now empty-feeling house. Jack wipes harshly at his cheeks and eyes and rolls his eyes at himself as he says, “I’m so pathetic. Can’t even be man enough to keep from crying.”

Something is struck within Vernon when Jack makes his crack at himself. There are memories flashing in his head, of his father telling him the same thing, that, “Real men don't cry.” It makes him angry for a beat, before he turns his attention back to Jack and decides to have him stop his self-deprecating train of thought before it runs him into the ground.

“Don't say that.” Vernon tells him softly, comforting, and reaches out to lay a hand across Jack’s wrist. His heart feels a little strange and offbeat at the contact but he doesn't pull away. “It's alright to cry. It doesn't make you weak or less of anything. You shouldn't feel ashamed of showing your feelings.” In a way, Vernon almost feels as though he’s saying some of his words to himself. But it only registers for a moment, and soon he’s pushing the thought away to the back of his mind and focusing on the task at hand. It's not his turn to have some emotional breakthrough. It might not ever be.

Jack looks at Vernon with his blue eyes so miserable, and despite his obvious pain he smiles at Vernon, small and defiant. Gracious. Vernon’s heart hasn't calmed but he ignores it easily, somewhat used to the feeling whenever looking at Jack now. They sit there by candlelight until Jack is nearly falling over in his chair with sleep, and Vernon helps him to his bed, not getting much sleep of his own once he turns in for the night to, in his own room, his mind just a little too busy turning over and over the same thoughts.

The next day, Vernon gives Jack his space. He didn't ask for it, but he doesn't know if Jack feels embarrassed or upset still, figure it may be best to just keep his distance for a little while. By the time night falls though, he doesn't think he can handle staying away any longer.

He doesn’t bother much with excuses anymore, but that’s mainly just because Jack doesn’t really give him the chance to. After the first four times, Vernon stopped feeling as sheepish about asking to sleep in Jack’s bed with him, and instead grinned cheekily despite his hammering heart. He makes the familiar walk to Jack’s doorway, the sun just barely set- he could hardly even wait for the evening to fully arrive before his mind jumped to the idea. And it seems that Jack is so used to the occurrence now, that he doesn’t even seem surprised to see Vernon planted a few feet away from his bed, his giddy smirk practically audible in the dark room.

“Was it the cows again?” Jack asks amusedly, the beginnings of sleepiness lacing his voice. Vernon likes it when his tone is lower and lazily rough. He likes Jack’s voice all the time, actually. After practically giggling like a child, Vernon doesn't bother with an actual response and just heads over to Jack’s bed. There’s been some kind of cold front coming through lately, and though the summer is still sweltering, the blankets of Jack’s bed come in handy during the chilly nights. Vernon slips under them easily, comfortably, settling down next to the familiar body heat and even shuffling a little closer to it. He knows his own motives, though he tries to hide and forget them, but hopes Jack just sees his actions to be friendly and platonic, nothing more.

He can only pray.

He's just managing to drift off when he hears Jack whisper something sleepily, words a little mashed together and slurred, voice a little too quiet and breathy and just barely audible- but he still hears it. “I'm glad you came here,” Jack murmurs, to seemingly no one in particular, on his side and facing away from Vernon. Vernon lies perfectly still and stick straight then, holds his breath for a moment as he tries to stay quiet. He feigns sleep and doesn't let Jack know he heard, not knowing if he was even meant to. Or what he would say in return.

\--

They’ve fallen into a routine. In the beginning, Vernon thought he’d go crazy without a cinema nearby or any parks or even a library around. But, once Vernon can’t seem to find anything he hasn’t opened up to Jack about and vice versa, and they spend nearly every waking moment with each other by choice rather than by lack of space, he realizes that every day in the rural little farm house have become the best days he’s ever had. There's never been anything very extravagant involved- they’ll picnic outside once in awhile, Jack cooking some foods that he can’t believe Vernon has never tried. At his parents’ stupidly fancy parties, they always serve odd little finger sandwiches and fish something-or-other; nothing quite so rustic and homegrown as fried green tomatoes. And when they’re not dining outside or at the trusty kitchen table, they’re playing cards, or dancing goofily to the gramophone Jack has instead of a shiny new radio.

Most of all though, they just talk. Because there’s always that time where they decide there’s really nothing else to do; and also because Vernon just loves to listen to the way Jack speaks.

That's why when the routine is suddenly broken, Vernon has somewhat of a hard time dealing with the change. Or rather, the change that's soon to come.

They pair had been laughing about something stupid Jack had said when they heard it- a car door slamming, footsteps on the front porch outside, and a knock on the door. Vernon held his breath, maybe subconsciously hoping that if he didn't make a noise, then the mechanic might suspect no one to be home, and just come back another day. Or never. He’s looking at Jack with this sort of expression that even _he_ isn't sure what it means. Pleading? Asking Jack with silent words to not answer the door so that they can spend every summer together always? He knew he’d have to go back at some point, but just two months seemed too short of a time. Maybe Jack notes the way Vernon’s eyes beg the silent question, but he doesn't comment on it, and moves to answer the door anyway. From then, it all happens so fast. One moment Vernon is sitting at the kitchen table wondering if his family would even notice if he never came back, and the next his car is running, luggage all packed in, and Jack is standing next to him looking as though he could cry. Vernon doesn't want it to end, but he knows that the summer doesn't last forever.

“Well, this is it, then.” Vernon says, and watches Jack nod in response, eyes following the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows slowly. He notices how Jack won’t meet his eyes, keeps looking just over Vernon’s shoulder until Vernon tells him, “Look at me.” His words aren't stern though, rather soft and sad. Maybe in other circumstances he'd feel embarrassed for getting emotional over something that should be trivial. But in the moment, with no one around to see him besides Jack and the cows, he can't be bothered to care.

“I, uh…” Jack begins in a voice that may be shaky if he were any louder than a whisper. He doesn't say anything else, but Vernon doesn't bother asking what he was planning on saying. Instead, he just pulls him closer into a hug, his arms around his shoulders and holding tight. Jack’s head is in the crook of his neck, and Vernon can feel his breath warm on his skin. He doesn't want to pull away, and probably wouldn't if Jack would let him stand there all day holding him.

He doesn't.

Before he can think too hard about the way Jack stares into his eyes, and the way their faces are just under a foot apart once they've separated, Jack’s hand is squeezing his shoulder and sending him on his way. He promises to visit Jack again, promises he won't forget because honestly, how could he? And after that, he's off. He doesn't bother looking back as he drives away, because he knows just how easy it would be to take one glance at Jack and turn right back around.

Days of driving bring him back home to Los Angeles, and Vernon’s father is angry when the news is broken to him that his son never made it to the business he was meant to be driving to. He starts with all these questions, and none of them are even concerned, asking if Vernon is okay and how he managed being away from home for so long. Instead, he starts with, “Why didn't you call me?” and continues, “Do you know how much this means to the company?” Vernon knew he’d miss the leisurely life from that summer, the easy, lazy days he'd grown accustomed to with his funny little Irish bird. He just didn't know it would hit him so soon, and so hard. Vernon goes to bed that night with a heavy weight-like feeling in his gut, unable to find sleep very easily back in the ever-bustling city, and no familiar body to crawl into bed next to.

\--

A month is too long. In so many cases, Jack has thought a month is too short. Too short of a time to get ready for the move to America, not nearly enough time to for him to simply “move on” from his mother’s death. Now though, a month after Vernon’s solemn departure, thirty days of struggling to revert back to his previous routine, going for weeks without a proper _friend_ \- a month is much too long.

Not more than a week after Vernon hopped in his hayburner back to Los Angeles, Jack’s father had shown up back home from Ireland. And they fell back into their own habits. They do their chores, they chat in the mornings and at supper, they spend their time apart and they don’t talk to each other as much as they know they should. Jack finds that he's murmuring to himself and the cows more than usual without someone close he can let loose with. Maybe the worst part is that they both can tell the other is nothing short of miserable, but neither can quite place why, and so everything stays pinned and locked up inside.

It's rather rare, but every once and awhile Jack will hear the clunking and sputtering of a heavy engine traversing down their dirt roads. But, a month is a long time to stay waiting, and at this point he’s figured that Vernon has forgotten all about him. And how couldn't he? With his job and the city and all of his friends back home, why would Vernon ever bother to even think of Jack, let alone stop by to visit? He did promise to come back, and Jack thinks about that promise, almost all the time. He's not even completely sure why it won't get out of his head and it bothers and eats at him like an itch that won’t go away. Mostly, Jack thinks of Vernon while underneath the citrus trees, and at night when he’s alone in bed, staring at the flickering kerosene candlelight and unable to find sleep. But a month is too long, and Jack thinks that after not hearing a word for the rest of the summer, he can consider their still-blossoming friendship very much over.

He wonders why, thinks in retrospect of what he could have done to help his case. Did Vernon really just care for the city life more than he could ever enjoy his time with Jack? Was it something he did or said, coming on too strong, drunkenly spouting his troubles to him too often? Or was it even what he didn’t say? Jack mulls over the words he left unspoken as Vernon went his separate way, and wonders if he had said something instead of remaining all caught up in his head and his feelings, that maybe it would have changed things. But what would he have said anyway? He tried to come up with the right words but Jack isn't sure what really what have been best.

Let me get your address to stay in touch.

I wish this summer wouldn’t ever end.

Why don't you stay a little while longer?

I think I’m falling in love with you.

Please don't leave me to be alone again.

It all doesn't matter much now, Jack figures, as he lounges lazily around his room upstairs. The sound of an automobile passing by outside seems to make him want to cry, as he's reminded of how he used to let his hopes up. Not so much anymore, though. He's a bit tired of being disappointed.

From downstairs, he hears a call of his name from his father, probably looking to guilt him into cleaning the clothes. He doesn't mind it much, just hates hanging up the washing to dry the most. When he gets downstairs, though, he's pleasantly surprised to see that the basin isn't set out and the washboard is nowhere in sight. And his father’s next words shock him even more.

“You have a visitor,” He states casually from the living room, where he's settled back into his favorite chair after answering the door. He might say something else after that, but Jack doesn't hear it, because his heart begins to pound and the blood rushing in his ears drowns everything out. For a month, and entire _month_ , Jack didn't allow himself to get excited; but now, as he moves towards the front door, the tickle in his gut and the slight trembling of his fingers can't really be helped.

When Jack pushes open the screen door and sees Vernon standing on the porch off to the left, he doesn't do what he thought he would. He figured that if and when he saw Vernon again, he would break into a huge smile, run at him for a hug, maybe even cry. But, as it turns out, Jack only manages to stand there motionless in some sort of shock, not even flinching as the screen door slams shut behind him. There are too many words he could think to say that he doesn’t know how he could possibly choose. Fortunately enough, Vernon speaks up first.

“I’m sorry it’s been a little while.” He murmurs almost sheepishly, ducking his head down slightly without taking his eyes away from Jack’s.

“I thought you forgot about me,” Jack admits.

Vernon’s mouth falls open and he gasps, eyebrows furrowing and turning his expression into one of disbelief, of hurt. He takes a couple steps towards Jack, who's still unmoving and planted in his place, and closes the distance between them. By the time he takes each of Jack’s hands in his own, there are inexplicable tears welling up in Jack’s eyes. He feels embarrassed; for admitting his insecurities and vulnerabilities in front of Vernon, for feeling so overwhelmed that he resorts to tears, for holding onto Vernon’s hands tightly and squeezing at his fingers.

“How could you ever think that?” Vernon asks him, his thumbs running over Jack’s knuckles softly. Jack wonders if he even knows he's doing it. “I care about you, Jack. It wasn't easy to get back here, my dad was on my case all month long and didn't want me stepping out of line again. But I took the car in the evening after he’d gone to bed and drove all night to get to you. I came here to see you, and, I uh…” His sentence trails off, and Jack tilts his head in curiosity as he waits for him to finish.

Vernon releases his hold on Jack’s hands to rub at his own face, seeming uncharacteristically tentative.

“You know, it’s not common for me to find someone I’m so comfortable with, but it's even more odd to come across someone I like so much,” Jack is just about to outspokenly agree, findings his words relatable, before Vernon continues.

“Someone that I-I want to spend all of my time with, and laugh with and…,” He trails off, his voice considerably quieter now, “And kiss so much.”

Thoughts of their humid summer nights spent together flash through Jack’s mind; naked together in the pond, under the same sheets, always so close yet so far. He thinks of that _look_ he began to always see in Vernon’s eyes, and thinks of their whole scorching season of tentative touching and sincere smiles. Was it all leading up to this?

“I-I,” Jack stammers, his tongue useless in such a situation where his swelling heart seems to have taken over. “I want to kiss you too,” Is all he can manage after a few more moments of stunned, unsure silence. He hadn't well thought of that fact much before, but once he says it out loud he realizes just how right it sounds, how true the statement is. Neither of the two dare to make the first move, instead keeping their eyes locked in silent emotion and strong feeling, licking their lips subconsciously as their minds wander and reel.

“Well?” Vernon finally asks, his voice loud enough to break the trance that Jack seems have been in, a hypnotized spell caused by the constant sneering of the buzzards and the deep wells of endearment that lay in Vernon’s gazing eyes. “Cash or check?”

Taken aback and confused, Jack cocks his head in a question, asking, “What?”

“I’m sorry, that must something only city folk say,” he tells Jack amusedly, the spreading grin on his face lacing into the sound of his words. “I meant, will you kiss me now, or kiss me later?”

“I’d like to now, if it's no trouble,” Jack admits hastily, his cheeks pink with a summery, lovestruck flush.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Vernon continues to grin as he advances forward, those expensive city shoes from the shoemaker’s daughter tapping against the wooden porch until he’s within arm's reach and can place a firm hand on Jack’s hip, the other on his unkempt scruffy jaw. He wonders, as he tastes the remnants of something citrusy on Jack’s smiling lips, if the shoemaker’s daughter would still give him complimentary shoes if she knew how unabashedly smitten he is with the endearing farmer from Ireland.

**Author's Note:**

> make sure to like, comment, and subscribe if u liked this fic :^)


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